Hearts in Armor
by kyrdwyn
Summary: Post ep for Burden of Proof


"Hearts in Armor" - by kyrdwyn

Rated: G

Spoilers/Summary: Post-ep for "Burden of Proof"

Disclaimer:  I don't own CSI or its characters.  Making no money off of this story, just playing with my view of them.  I also don't own the song used.  For anyone interested, it's "Hearts in Armor" as sung by Trisha Yearwood, on the album "Hearts in Armor".

**~~~**

After he had taken Catherine home, making sure his inebriated friend and colleague would be okay (other than her hangover), he returned to his home, trading the orange juice from earlier for a glass of wine.  He sipped at it, staring out the window.  Abruptly, he set the glass on the end table and began searching through his CD collection.  Finding what he wanted, he almost reverently placed the disc into his player.  He programmed the track he wanted and hit play, picking up his wine glass again.  

_One more day my heart's in armor_

_Though I meant to let you in_

_In an effort not to harm it_

_I have missed my chance again_

Catherine had accused him of being burned in the past.  He wouldn't call it burned - not in the way she had been.  It was more of a fear.  Fear of getting too close, fear of loving too much; fear of ending up like his mother.

_I was singing when I freed you_

_But my pride was just a veil_

_I pretended not to need you_

_Now my heart tells a different tale_

Grissom barely remembered his father.  He had often been away traveling for work, and when he came back he was always at the office.  Mostly, it had been Grissom and his mother alone in their often-silent house.  In summer, when school was out, Grissom would spend weeks without speaking aloud, signing to his mother only.  That drove his father nuts on the rare occasions he was home.

His mother had been the one to file for divorce, unable to deal with his father's absences.  She loved her husband deeply, but couldn't deal with his work.  Though he had been very young, Grissom could remember his mother's depression every time his father went away.  Divorcing him had been the only way she could cope - then he had always been gone, and she could cope.  Or so she told her son.

_And every hour that goes by the harder I become_

_Because I let that well run dry_

_Because I left you unanswered_

But his mother hadn't improved after the divorce.  As Grissom had grown up, his mother had grown more withdrawn into her own world.  Her art gallery and her son became the only bright spots in her universe.  She didn't date, didn't go out with a lot of friends.  She didn't talk to him a lot, either.  She'd been thrilled when he'd graduated college and started working for the coroner's office, but he could always tell that something was missing in his mother's life.  He once tried to get her to talk about his father, but she merely shook her head, saying that chapter of her life was over.  Unwilling to pressure her, he'd let it drop.

_Then like a fool I kept my secrets_

_When it made no sense to try_

_Now I can no longer keep it_

_For it's late, and the moon is high_

Grissom closed his eyes and thought of his mother as she had been the last time he'd seen her.  It had been not long before his move to Las Vegas.  He'd gone to visit her, making dinner for them as he had for himself and Catherine this night.  She'd sat on a barstool in her kitchen, a glass of wine in her hand, the fading sun turning her silver-blond strands red.  To his eye, she was too thin, too frail.  It was almost like her spirit was fading away.  He hadn't noticed it before that night.

She became animated when he told her about the offer from Las Vegas.  She thought it would be a good move for him.  His mother had always understood that he couldn't do anything other than what he did.  In that, she would say, he was very much his father's son.  Both of them had personalities that made them suitable for only one profession, whereas his mother could move from job to job easily, able to separate her work from herself.  

For Grissom, it was the first time since the divorce that his mother had been happy.  She'd smiled and laughed that night, hugging him before he'd left, telling him how proud she was of her son.  He'd kissed her and hugged her, telling her in sign that he loved her.  It was something he hadn't said to her in a while, and he knew it meant a lot to her.  She'd signed it back, and waved as he'd driven off.

Two months later, he'd just gotten home from his shift in Las Vegas when his phone rang.  

_And every hour that goes by the harder I become_

_Because I let that well run dry_

_Because I left you unanswered_

They'd laid her to rest next to her husband, at Grissom's insistence.  He hadn't known his father had been killed, but he knew she had.  Looking at the date on his father's headstone, he knew that was when his mother's spirit had started to die.  Whether or not anyone had told her of her husband's death was irrelevant to Grissom.  She had somehow known, and been unable to carry on in a world without the man she loved.  Not even their son had been enough to anchor her to this life.  As much as he wanted to be angry with her for that, Grissom couldn't be.  She was his mother.  He'd known all his life that she was still in love with her husband.  

_One more day my heart's in armor_

_Though I did not see it then_

_I would finish what you started_

_If I had that chance again_

Standing in his home now, Grissom looked down into his empty wineglass.  It wasn't just his interest in science or his need to know everything he could about anything that kept him isolated from the rest of the world.  It was the memory of his mother's love for a man she couldn't live with and couldn't live without.  Seeing his mother cry every time his father left - and every night while he was gone - had convinced a young Grissom that falling in love wasn't worth it.  There was too much pain, too much sorrow.  As an adult, he knew he had been reacting to his own feelings of abandonment from his father's absence and his mother's withdrawal.  Still, knowing why he felt that way, and changing it were two different things.

He'd built a wall around himself, one with very few ways in.  Catherine tried, in her own way, to find cracks.  He knew she cared about him as a friend.  He cared about her, too.  But even that bothered him.  It was a crack in the wall.

The wall had cracked once, long ago.  He hadn't gotten burned - it would be more accurate to say he'd burned her.  When he'd realized how much he loved her, he'd been too paralyzed by the memory of his mother to continue.  He didn't think he could go through with it.  So he'd ended the relationship.

_I would finish what you started_

_If I had that chance again_

Refilling his wineglass, he heard the quiet 'click' of the CD player as it turned off.  Sighing, he raised the glass in a silent toast to his mother, and silent apology to the woman he knew he'd hurt.  He knew, behind the wall he'd built, that he still loved her.  And he knew that if he had the chance to love again, as much as he wished otherwise, he would still react the same way.


End file.
